


Generation Losers

by emocezi



Category: Generation Kill, The Losers
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocezi/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jay, don't call them Jarheads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Generation Losers

They've been sitting there for four hours, watching the main road of Al Muwaffaqiyah. Person is sitting on the hood of the Humvee and humming Skater Boi to himself yet again. Trombley has his binocular's out, though what he's looking at is anyone's guess.

The vehicles attempting to pass through the center of the small Iraqi town have dropped from three an hour to one every forty five minutes. Even Hasser is starting to get bored, though he keeps his eyes on the road, not wanting to miss the opportunity to shoot terrorists.

The whining sound of an engine makes it's way to their ears and everyone's gaze goes to the road when an old looking station wagon rounds the corner. Rather then speed towards them and come to a halt when a smoke grenade goes off, it sidles to the side of the road, the fanbelt still squeaking every now and again.

There's movement in the car and Hasser drops to one knee, leveling his SAW at the car in case he needs to use it. Everyone's radio crackles once, then again, leaving Person glancing around nervously. The radio crackles a third time and then a tinny voice comes through.

“ _-if you don't think you can do it then-_ ”

“ _You told me to do something, I'm doing something._.”

“ _This isn't gonna turn into something like that time in Brazil is it?_ ”

“ _Hey fuck you Roque. I was fucking awesome in Brazil. Next time you can make the radio out of a tin can and I'll stand around and yell._ ”

“ _Are you finished yet Corporal?_ ”

“ _I'm jury rigging my cell phone to a car radio, Clay. I will let you know when I'm...oh, I think I'm done. Hey, you Jarheads up there, wave if you can hear me._ ”

“ _Jay, don't call them Jarheads._ ”

“ _But-_ ”

“ _We need to get through the roadblock. I did not drive across a hundred and fifty miles across the desert to get shot up by Marines because you pissed them off. Sit the fuck back in your seat and let the big boys handle this._ ”

“ _I'm telling Jolene you're a total jerk._ ”

Colbert and Person share a glance, and Fick comes running up from where he was standing at his own Humvee, a couple hundred meters back.

“What's going on?” Person shrugs and Colbert shifts a shoulder, waiting to see what the hell is happening.

“ _If you can hear me wave._ ” The tinny voice squawks over everyone's comms and Person waves his arm before anyone can tell him not to. Fick glares while Person pretends he's done nothing wrong.

“ _HA! I AM KING OF THE MACHINES BABY. Roque, stop it. STOP IT. CLAY ROQUE'S-_ ” The tinny voice dropped off to a gurgling muffle that sounded a lot like the voice had been gagged, or garrotted.

“ _Good afternoon gentleman. I'm Colonel Frank Clay. I know you can't respond so I'm going to make this brief. We've been driving since this morning and need to get past this lovely roadblock you've set up as we need to be in Kuwait by tomorrow afternoon at the latest._ ”

“ _Damn Clay, when did you turn into such a fine upstanding motherfucker?_ ”

“ _Shut up Linwood._ ”

“ _Sir, yes, Sir._ ”

“ _I'm stepping out of my car and I'm going to walk towards you so we can discuss this. Wave if this is an approved action._ ” Fick waved after a couple of moments of weighing the pros and cons and the passenger side door opened. A man in a rumpled black suit stepped out and headed towards them.

Hasser kept his SAW trained on the man as he approached, finger a hairs breadth away from the trigger in case something went wrong.

The Rolling Stone reporter nudged his way past Trombley just as Clay stopped in front of Fick. The Lieutenant had to look up a few inches to meet the Colonel's eyes. The entire platoon just sort of stopped, waiting to see what was about to go down.

They all had faith in their Lt, but the man in front of him looked like he could go toe to toe with Godfather. He had what looked to be about three days worth of stubble, and a nasty looking bruise took up residence on the left side of his face.

“Colonel Clay. I'm Lieutenant Fick. You shouldn't be out here.”

“Oh there's a lot of places we're not supposed to be.” Clay drawled, straightening out his suit as best he could. As if he was trying to give the appearance of the rank he held. Person shared a glance with Hasser, who looked suitably impressed. “I've got an appointment in Kuwait that my sniper really can't miss. So we really need to get past this road block you boys have so nicely maintained. If you would be so kind.”

Fick nodded, hand going to his radio before he remembered that he couldn't call out. “Could you get your man back there to stop jamming our radios?” Clay seemed to consider this and nodded, lifting a fist in the air. Almost immediately the tinny voices that had been discussing what was better-Man Vs. Wild, or Survivor man-cut out.

“Godfather, this is Hitman Two. Over.”

“This is Godfather.”

“I have a civilian here stating he's an Army Colonel and requesting permission to drive through the roadblock.”

“Name of the civilian?”

“Frank Clay.”

“Let them through Hitman Two. Godfather sends his greetings to Pigeon. Over and out.” Fick nodded, then raised an eyebrow at Clay who shrugged, smirking.

“Clay Pigeons. Everyone loves to shoot them.” Clay offered by way of explanation. “How is that old Bastard?”

“Old.” Offered Person before anyone could tell him to shut up. Hasser rolled his eyes and Colbert looked like he wanted to smack the Corporal across the back of the head, but refrained because good company was over.

“Tell him I owe him a beer when this is all over.” Clay said again, then turned and motioned at his men in the car. The driver put it in gear and pulled up along side Clay as the Marines started to make a space for the vehicle to pass through.

“You never buy us beer.”

“I'll buy you a hooker when this is over Roque.”

“I fuckin' deserve one for putting up with this asshole.” The giant black man in the back seat muttered, punched the sulking blonde who glared at him, a black and white scarf in his mouth, effectively gagging him.

“Can I have a hooker?” The Mexican sitting beside the blonde asked.

“Cougs, you don't need to pay for it. You could go to a gay bar and the lesbians would be all over you. It's not fuckin' fair.” The driver muttered. “Get in the fucking car Clay, if we miss Solomon we're not gonna get another crack at him.”

Clay got in the car, leaning out the window to smile at the marines.

“You boys play nice with the other kids now.”

“Yeah.” The blonde shouted, having gotten the scarf out of his mouth. “We're off to go kill us a child-raping drug lord. And by us I mean Cougar. Cause man I have _tried_ to snipe at people, but I can't sit still long enough. And my man Cougar here is a fucking pirate-ninja-jedi master.”

“Jensen, how the fuck can someone be a pirate-ninja-jedi master?” Pooch asked, turning around to face the blonde.

“Well he's a pirate cause he gets all the booty. Heh. And he's a ninja because he's a fucking ninja. And he's a jedi master because he can use the force to stop his heart. Basic logic man.”

“Do you have a brother you don't know about?” Colbert asked, turning to Person who was grinning in unholy amusement.

“Drive.” Cougar snapped.

“Yeah yeah, I'll get you to the fucking castle before midnight you fucking Princess.” With that the car scraped through the two Humvee's making up the blockade and took off through town.

“What the hell was that?” Reporter asked, face a mask of confusion.

“Army.” Colbert said quietly. “Probably Spec Ops.”

“What the fuck are they even doing here?” Person spoke loudly, laying back on the windshield of the Humvee. “It's not like we need help fucking up this country.”

“Forget you saw them.” Fick decided after a few moments. “They don't exist. Never came through here.”


End file.
